Monday, 15 September 2008

Retardedly exhausted

I'm sketching in hours with cigarettes and phone calls thinking about Gemma on her birthday and wishing I could pop in for a cup of tea with a surprise cake in a white box but Melbourne is nowhere near Sydney, I think this might be a design flaw.

I'm waiting for words or the space that words arrive in. Daily is difficult when you need to make room for words. I was glad this weekend for Superman's company with his easy way of letting me be unfiltered, tired and badly dressed. I was glad last night when Spencer and Madam Squeeze came to visit. We stuffed ourselves with Turkish food and I demonstrated my newly perfected Pirate Chicken Dance and my ability to play a G major scale slowly but just the way Superman taught me to on guitar.

Spencer sometimes talks about the geography of sound but now I'm thinking about the geography of self. We all sat in The Peach stuffing ourselves with Turkish food and listening to records like they were just invented. Superman put on God Gave Rock'n'Roll To You and it was ridiculous but we all knew the words. I sat on the floor with pide half way to my face singing God gave rock'n'roll to you, put it in the soul of everyone. We were all singing and it was good and ridiculous and if scribes were taking notes they would have called it cartography.

I'm retardedly exhausted and happy in a flopsy kind of way. I had a good weekend, those are small words, the answer to a Monday question. They should be bigger or interstellar or revealed in ancient bones because its a way of making maps when you have a good weekend.

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